A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 08.01.05:

Also shorter than I'd like, but, I'm leaving in about twenty minutes to go to the tri-cities for my training, and I may not have internet for a week. Thus, it wrapped up where it wanted and I didn't argue.

I'd also like to note that I absolutely love the chemistry that becomes apparent in this chapter, having not known how they would react to one another myself. Akara's absolutely exploding into color, as far as her character goes... I'm very pleased. The first two TAF's didn't leave much room for this.

05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. Please just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.

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TAF: SNAFU
entry four, never say never

Akara felt relief for the first time in many hours.

The Archmagus had finally fallen asleep, which meant that he was no longer studying her like a bug under a glass. She shuddered. Every time she had moved out of his line of sight to get away from that measuring, analyzing stare, he'd switched to questioning her endlessly until she moved back again. The knowing smirk made sure she knew it was all intentional.

/ I don't -deal- with people like this. /

It was true, too. She didn't know how to react to being bombarded with sharp, too-cunning questions... it was slightly worse than that constant stare. But only slightly, she thought with another shudder, knowing full well what his vision showed. He was watching her wither away... rot right down to the bones, over and over, according to every single reliable source she had ever brought to bear on the subject.

And while she -knew- he enjoyed manipulating others, it still didn't make her any harder of a target.

/ I generally just break into their houses and rifle through their possessions in peace. The only reason I even deal with the people in the tavern, even briefly, is to keep up appearances... I must be the dumbest blasted person he's ever toyed with. /

Akara frowned, silently righting the table across the room by the light of the refilled oil lamp. She didn't need the light to operate, of course, but she wasn't going to handle any of his books without looking before touching. If there were any in any languages she couldn't read, there was no way in hell she'd so much as poke them with a stick.

"Akara." Raistlin had mused out loud when she'd vanished behind his chair to refill the lamp. "An interesting name. Based off of the word -arcana-, perhaps...?" The thief had stiffened at his words, nearly dropping the bottle of lamp oil in her hand. He must have sensed it, too, because he had continued mercilessly. "Were your parents Mages, then?"

Not knowing how to really evade a question and too uncomfortable to just ignore him, Akara had blurted out her answers.

"My Mother... she was a Red Robe."

"And your Father?"

"An Alchemist, a follower of Sirrion."

"A fascinating combination. Were you ever checked for magical ability?"

"Yeah." Akara had replied, dumping a bit too much oil into the lamp. "I don't have any."

And so the thief was careful with the books, wary of being zapped by any spellbooks mixed into the pile. The first two she lifted and closed silently, setting them on the table without reading any. She just skimmed the pages to make sure they were readable to her (and so, likely not of a magical nature), and moved on to the next. But by the third book, her eyes had started to pick out words in common with the others, and she paused to actually read.

It was a story, about a legendary thief named Grissom Krinir. Akara smirked, knowing this tale well... her great-grandfather's uncle, if that made sense. The one that no one in her family would ever talk about when she had been young and full of questions. They were so ashamed to have a famous thief in their family... Akara's smirk turned cold, bitter, before she shut the book and set it aside.

The other two were about thieves as well, though none she'd heard of. Shrugging, Akara went back to skimming, picking up, closing, and piling books onto the table. It wasn't until she got to the one that Raistlin had ripped handfuls of pages out of that she paused again, curious. Knowing he wouldn't treat a spellbook in such a way, she didn't worry about picking it up without skimming first. Just as well, too, the only pages already open were still blank.

She shut the cover, looking at the binding... it was blank. Opening the small book again, now to the first page, revealed that the Archmagus had ripped out all of the pages with any substantial writing on them. Rolling her eyes, Akara set this book down as well. It might have been blank from the start, though she remembered seeing handwriting on those bits of parchment.

Come to think of it, where were the pages? He'd dropped them...

Majere chose that moment to wake, coughing so violently that he bent in the chair, nearly to putting his chin on his knees. Akara started, then rushed to pull the hot teakettle out of the fireplace by its long porcelain-coated handle, pouring a hot cup of water and adding the powder from the pouch Raistlin had handed her hours ago. She'd done this a few times, since.

"Here," she said, holding the edge to his lips when he'd sank back into the chair in exhaustion. Raistlin drank, but, his eyes held a peculiar sort of malice as he did so. Akara wondered what his particular problem was just now, but knew she wouldn't have to wonder for long. As expected, his voice--harsh from the coughing fit--bit into the air after the cup was drained and she turned to set it down in its place.

"You pity me." he spat.

"Not a chance." Akara turned to stare down at him.

"And you lie." Raistlin snarled, temper flaring, "I see it in your eyes."

The cat-burglar planted her gloved fists on her hips stubbornly, narrowing the eyes in question with her own temper.

"Why would I pity you? You brought this on yourself... your original condition? You knew anything could happen when you took your Test... and you're lucky you came out able to see at all, able to walk at all. -Screw- breathing, you could have met a messy, brutal, agonizing death."

Akara snorted, the Archmage seemed genuinely surprised at her anger, drawing back further into his chair, golden eyes widened just slightly. She didn't stop there, however, and on an impulse she decided to put her hands on the arms of his chair and lean in. If he was going to manipulate her at every blasted turn, she was at least going to drive home a point.

"And now you're sick, and I'm betting you brought that on yourself as well... spent too many nights reading with a dead fireplace, I bet. So -no-, I don't -pity- you, and I don't -lie-!"

"Why do you lean close?" his voice was soft, now, suddenly changing tactics. There was an unreadable expression in those hourglass eyes, suddenly too close for her liking. "Do I not scare you?"

"Oh, you scare me." Akara pulled herself back, walking away before turning back to him and promptly sitting on the floor, barely within the light of the fireplace. "But I like it. Fear is what reminds a person that they're alive. You don't think I break into your tower twice a year for the charming company, do you?"

Raistlin inclined his head, white hair not at all hiding his knowing smirk, though it could have.

Somehow, Akara knew it was deliberate.

The Archmage lifted one pale, shaking hand to pull his blankets back up around his shoulders. Akara's eyes narrowed again, but this time in thought. His skin was getting paler, his fever showed no signs of improving, and she still had not a clue what she was doing. She eyed the kettle.

"I'm going to have to go get more water for that, soon. It's boiling down."

Golden eyes glittered speculatively at her.

"Most do not leave their kettle in the fire."

"Most don't need tea for breathing, either." Akara raised an eyebrow, "And it's in a thief's nature to try and be prepared ahead of time... keeps our skin mostly attached to our meat."

He appeared amused.

"You have been looking at the books."

"Picking them up off the floor, you mean? Sure. And I don't grab books without seeing what language they're in, not in a place like this. Besides, that was Grissom Krinir's famous saying... you might say I've inherited the right to use it."

Raistlin nodded silently, before allowing his head to droop slowly to the side.

"You let me know the minute you're up to having me get you upstairs." Akara added, and Raistlin nodded again... if only slightly... before slipping back into sleep. The thief stood quietly and moved to the fireplace, piling on another bit of firewood before turning to look at him.

Even under the golden tint, Raistlin looked pale and sickly. There were circles under his eyes, and a vein showed clearly across the back of the one hand on top of the blankets. Sweat made his hair cling to the sides of his face, and yet he shivered. His breath and coughs still sounded as though liquid gurgled in the bottom of his lungs...

The thief turned away, not liking this feeling of not knowing what to do. She went back to sorting the books off the floor, keeping a close eye out for her amulets. One thing that Akara decided, however, was that giving him just a small taste of his own medicine had been good. Almost fun, even... certainly worth repeating.

"Do you never sleep?" the voice startled her, just before dawn. Akara jumped a bit, turning to glare at the Archmage who seemed incapable of staying conveniently unconscious for more than a few hours at a time, himself.

"Not at night." she replied, "Profession's rather a nocturnal one, you know."

"I see." Raistlin's smile was sardonic. "I believe we can make it to the bedchamber now, if you insist."

/ That could be taken so many ways, you creep. /

He knew it, too. She could tell it in his very, very slight smirk. Feeling rather annoyed at the whole situation, Akara approached his chair... but hesitated. Raistlin didn't say these things out of actual interest, he said them to take her off balance. She already knew he'd figured out her... obsession, or else had a very strong idea of it.

"My dear, having second thoughts?" his voice was laughing at her, "I assure you that I am in no condition to--"

"To -what-, Majere? Why not say whatever it is you're insinuating, plainly?"

"--argue." Raistlin smirked.

"Oh, I disagree. I think you would have to be about three months dead to not be in the condition to argue." Akara stated, glaring. "And maybe even then, you would figure out a way."

The Archmage laughed.

It wasn't a pleasant sound. Akara frowned at him, before reaching down to snag his wrist. Raistlin winced visibly, too fast to be deliberate, and the thief loosened her grip and moved it to his hand, pulling the sleeve of his robe back.

There, four fingers and a thumb had left their mark, the bruises looking strange on the golden-tinted skin. Dark amber, and a little brownish where her grip had shifted for the jump. Majere was watching her intently as she studied the damage her hand had caused, gloved fingers turning his forearm this way and that.

"Sorry." said the thief, letting the black velvet sleeve settle back into place as she lowered his arm. "I didn't know I was hanging on that tightly."

Raistlin shrugged his thin shoulders slightly, again looking at her strangely.

"I would have known if it had been intentional." he said, voice soft.

/ He never stops messing with my mind, does he? I must be a terribly amusing sort of bug under the glass. /

"Well, let's try this another way, then." Akara was a fast learner, always had been. If he was going to be so manipulative constantly, she was going to end up learning to do the same. The thief pulled off one of her gloves, sticking it through her belt, before offering that hand to him. A glove would slip off with enough weight put on it, but her bare hand would be steady enough.

"You grab me, this time." she said, "I don't bruise as easy."

But she had miscalculated a bit, here. The Mage slipped his hand up the previously-covered opening to her plain tunic's long sleeve. Akara nearly jerked away in shock at the too-warm fingertips tracing her skin, but he then grasped her forearm. Her wrist was caught with his other hand, creating a wholly-logical grip, and she pulled him to his feet without comment.

The blankets pooled on the floor, Akara glanced at them.

"I'll have to come back down here for those."

Raistlin nodded, and Akara turned towards the door, waiting for him to shift the hand on her wrist to her shoulder for support before starting forward, slowly. In effect, he was using her almost as he often did his staff, although he leaned far more heavily against her than his likely usual. She led him to the staff in question, there by the door, and the hand on her arm left to grab it.

Between her shoulder and his staff, he could make it up the stairs. At least, that's what Akara hoped.

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Dragonlance © someone else.
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.
Never steal if you value your spleen.